


numinous

by Poptarts3005 (pan_fro)



Category: The Handmaid's Tale (TV)
Genre: Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Gen, Implied/Referenced Abuse, Male-Female Friendship, Post-Season/Series 01, Rape Recovery
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-07
Updated: 2017-09-07
Packaged: 2018-12-24 23:11:45
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,171
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12023040
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pan_fro/pseuds/Poptarts3005
Summary: - (adj.) describing an experience that makes you fearful yet fascinated, awed yet attracted --- the powerful, personal feeling of being overwhelmed and inspired





	numinous

**Author's Note:**

> *there are no explicit mentions of rape (the word isn't even used, nor is it described)

"Why the fuck are we here?" Moira questions in exasperation as they near the entrance of a bar. It's freezing, the pavement veiled with layers of snow, but she loves the chill. How it wraps around her, seeping beneath her skin and into her bones. She's standing in it. She's walked in it, the prints of her shoes trailing behind her. No one can stop her, tell her that she can't. She thrives off of it. It was always more humid at home. Moira hates the sun.

She doesn't deserve his aggravation, Luke understands it isn't warranted in this situation. Stopping in front of the building, "Because you've barely left the apartment since you got here."

He's trying, despite everything and the impending crush of what's to come. He's trying and it matters to Moira, but she doesn't pretend anymore. She's promised herself that. She doesn't say anything in return. Breathing a huff into the air before allowing her gaze to drop to the ground. Sometimes she expects to look beneath cherry toes of her boots, into the marble floor of the brothel. Her eyes dispassionate and no longer bold. Illuminated by the oodles of yellow flickers from a chandelier hanging above her. Nothing here feels quite real and she's waiting to wake up. Waiting to face the cruelty before it's something worse than a sting.

When she doesn't say anything, having successfully phased out of the conversation, Luke breathes in. Looking up into the endless abyss of night above them, he thinks of Hannah. He thinks of June.

"I'm not going to say I understand, because I don't," He looks back down at her. Surprised when their gazes connect, "but I'm here and I'll be here when you're ready." Moira stares through the glass of his lens into his eyes. He has contacts but he still wears the pair sometimes. It reminds her of before, when he was a different man because it was a different world. Her stomach begins to implode. She doesn't even know if she can take the mere tips of her fingers and skim the surface of who she was.

 

"One fucking drink and then you leave me the hell alone." She grounds out in annoyance, when the tears begin to sprout, rushing towards the door. Luke in tow, and he smiles. Big and bright as if he's sharing the grin with June.

\---

 

The establishment is well lit and exudes a cozy vibe. Moira hasn't been in a coffee shop in ages. But, if it weren't for the assortment of alcohol resting on maple wood shelves. Behind the bar counter that glistens almost perfectly with polish. It could easily be one.

Luke sheds his coat, hanging it on a hook up on the wall when he puts a hand out for hers.

"Still the gentleman, I see." She observes, allowing the thick fabric to fall off her shoulders. Revealing the pitch black sleeves of the t - shirt she has on beneath. Removing the beanie pulled over her hair and stuffing it into the pocket before turning to hand it to him. This is when she catches a glimpse of herself in the long mirror hanging against the wall next to the coats. Casting pensive eyes over her reflection. Her hair was neat, edged up on the sides, due to a visit to Luke's barber. Some places on her body are thicker than what she could remember. And she looked somewhat well rested. She looked better. Like she was okay and she isn't ready to survey this in comparison to her internal self. So she doesn't and turns back to Luke, who's waiting patiently, before walking into the crowd.

Navigating through it's moderate thickness to the bar. It isn't until she takes a seat on one of the plush cushions of a stool does she actually take in her surroundings. Women make up a lot of of the crowd. Women latched onto each other amidst a kiss. Women dancing ever so close to the soft rock pouring out of a jukebox in a corner. Women talking, women laughing.

_Oh._

"You bastard." , Moira curses as her roaming eyes settle onto the words painted on the window. _Holly's_ , with a rainbow filled 'O'. A painted banner beneath, white with black words, _Solidarity, please.'_ She can't even begin to understand how she didn't see it.

Luke's expression dribbles with confusion, "What?"

"A gay bar?", She gestures to the room surrounding them.

He simply shrugs, "You went to them all the time."

"You could've asked first."

"It's just- they're choosing to be here. They choose not to care who's watching and it's okay." He explains.

"I'm sorry, really. I thought you needed this."

 

She stares at him, conflicted, eyes beginning their descend to the floor when he speaks.

 

"We can leave, if that's what you want."

"It's okay.", It's all she's able to say. There was error in his ways, but she can try, for herself at least.

 

She turns to face the distance ahead of her. Catching the attention of the bartender, "I would like a glass of wine. Red."

\---

 

She shouldn't like red. Shouldn't be swallowing it down. But she's here and not _there_ and it isn't a box. Inescapable. An unmovable, unconquerable weight like it is there. She's here, and red can be red again. Luke's still on his first beer when Moira's on her second glass. They'd moved away from the bar and to a table. Making adequate conversation. Watching the people around them interact. The establishment is inhabited by an eclectic crowd. People young, old, of different origins and sizes. There were some men but they didn't seem to disturb the purpose of the place. Comradely amongst the plethora of life.

 

The scenery evokes a sense of glee within Moira. She feels significantly calm, like she could close her eyes and lie herself to rest in this very spot.

"This place is nice. Thank you." She extends, lifting the rim to her lips.

Luke smiles. He sees past her gratitude, is certain he doesn't need it. The sight of her content sinking into his heart. Yet, with a relaxing warmth, "Anytime."

 

For what feels like the first time in an eternity, she smiles. Before standing from her seat, "I'm gonna get another glass."

"Okay, I'll be right here." And she can't help the security she feels at his sincerity.

She tries to not pay any mind to the lingering glances from some of the inhabitants as she makes her way to the bar. In the late hours, her room drenched with so much darkness that she can't see her hands, there's aches. But spending time here, gave her time to think. And she isn't herself. She isn't that woman who would thread her way through a crowd. Cells electrified and humming with confidence. Who slipped through a sea of bodies to a woman. To a love. To Odette.

No, she places a hand onto the warm polish of the bar top, no, she's not there yet.


End file.
